


Like Father, Like Son

by sinningbreaksthecycletoo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputation, Angst, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Broken Bones, Brother Feels, Car Accidents, Child Abuse, Corpses, Emotional Manipulation, Force Choking, Graphic Description, Hanzo Has A Bad Time, Hanzo needs a Hug, Hurt, Hurt Hanzo Shimada, Implied Necrophilia, Incest, Little comfort, Major Character Injury, Manipulation, Non-Consensual, Paralysis, Parent Death, Parent/Child Incest, Please for the love of God read the tags, Sexual Assault, Sibling Bonding, Sorry i dont make the rules Goodbye, Strangulation, THIS IS NOT ROMANTIC OR CONSENSUAL, This is 14 pages long, Young Genji Shimada, Young Hanzo Shimada, hanzo suffers, if you THINK it is then Ya Gotta Go To Hell Buddy, its 9 AM, like exactly, okay hoo boy, temporary paralysis, this is in NO WAY meant to be interpreted as PLEASURING, this is not a good fic, this is quite possibly one of the worst things I've ever written but here we are, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 02:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinningbreaksthecycletoo/pseuds/sinningbreaksthecycletoo
Summary: He felt so heavy. Like he was walking to his death. Sometimes, Hanzo thought he was. He wasn’t sure whether he felt that way because of the car or because of where it was taking him.





	Like Father, Like Son

**Author's Note:**

> Please, for the love of God, read the tags.   
> This is one of the worst things I've ever written, even if it does seem pretty tame writing-wise. Concept wise, it's horrid, as I'm sure the tags show, pffft. But anyways, I wanted to write something that I could aggressively just type in and this is what I ended up with. Please mind the tags as to not trigger yourself by reading this!  
> Oh, also, since a lot of the dialogue is supposed to be other than English, Japanese will be placed between [...] like those, and the brief mentions of Nepali will be placed between {...} like those!   
> Oof. Anyways, enjoy! But not too much, that'd be scary.

Hanzo lets out a long, frustrated exhale through his nose, crossing his arms, leaning on the wall, and staring ahead. His legs were burning and aching in protest to him standing for so long, practically begging him to take off his prosthetics and plunge the stumps that ended just after his knees into a hot bath and relax. The loud chatter that came from surrounding strangers and the annoying beeping noises that rang throughout the arcade only added to his exhaustion.

And yet, he found the sound of his younger brother Genji’s laughter drowning everything else out. In front of him, the green haired boy moved erratically on that stupid game that Hanzo never bothered with. Dance Dance Revolution, or something among those lines. Next to him, a taller teen made attempts at competing with him, but they both knew Mondatta stood no chance.

On Hanzo’s left was Zenyatta, Mondatta’s younger brother, enthusiastically clapping and laughing at the ordeal from his wheelchair. He couldn’t help it when his throat tightened and his brows furrowed. Not in pity, of course not. But sometimes, Hanzo looks at the wheelchair and wonders. Zenyatta never got the chance Genji did, back when he was in his own wheelchair.

It was so long ago, almost ten years now, but the older Shimada remembers it like it was yesterday. Genji was only four then, and he was seven. Their father, Sojiro, had been driving with an eerily contemplative look on his face that neither boys truly ever thought about back then. Their father was a very big business man, owner of the Shimada company, so it made sense that he constantly had a lot on his mind.

Huge businessmen such as that had targets painted of their backs. Many wanted to take them out by any means necessary, legal or not. But never in a million years did younger Hanzo think that the need to be the most successful would be so dire to go so far as to ram a truck into their vehicle while they were on their way home.

No matter how hard he tries, he could never forget what he saw that day when he regained consciousness. His throat still tightens to this day because of it; he was only seven, how could it not? He recalls it very clearly, how the first thing he’d seen when he opened his eyes were his father’s own lifeless ones staring back at him, the man’s neck twisted in a way that was impossible to live through.

The next thing he’d seen were his legs. Not Sojiro’s, his _own_ legs, just laying across the crumpled dashboard, a good distance away from him and very much detached. They seemed like a clean cut, symmetrically and evenly splitting his calves from his knees. He wanted to throw up at the time, but he couldn’t.

Because the next thing he’d seen was a small head of black hair crying loudly to his right. Genji was not given the luxury of passing out for a brief moment upon impact like Hanzo, nor was he given the quick death like Sojiro. Instead, the boy with a broken right arm was partially outside of the car, the crushed hunk of metal laying directly on top of his hips and leaving the rest of him out of view.

When he’s said that he couldn’t feel them, Hanzo had feared the worst: that he’d ended up like him. Legless. Amputated. Unwhole. But when, by some luck, they’d been saved by a witness, they’d discovered it was almost worse. It was a miracle that either of the boys survived at all, but an even bigger miracle was that Genji’s spine hadn’t split into two and that he was only rendered temporarily immobile from damage to his peripheral nerves.

Their mother had never been more devastated in her life. Not only had she lost the love of it, but both of her children were now scarred in more ways than one. And to top it off, until Hanzo was old enough to be the owner of the company he was heir to, she was going to be the one to run it in her husband’s stead.

She was business woman herself, of course. High class people married each other after all. But it never meant she could run an entire company on her own, one of the most successful ones in the world and the most powerful one in Hanamura much less. They were still wealthy, so she’d opted to concentrate on the boys’ recovery first rather than the corporation that caused her all this grief.

Their physiotherapy was costly, but effective, and nothing they couldn’t handle at the time. It was only when things had begun to go south did she step up and attempt to properly lead the company back on track. Her paranoia began to catch up to her when she’d realized the danger what remains of her family was in, so when Hanzo was thirteen and Genji was ten, their mother had taken them and moved away to America.

She still worked, but she preferred to keep a distance from their rivals in Hanamura. She deemed it much safer to be as far away from them as possible. Things were beginning to settle down and almost normalize for the Shimadas. Genji was making huge improvements in regaining his ability to walk, he could _jog_ now, while Hanzo had gotten used to his prosthetics like they were second nature. Their mother reclaimed their financial stability, and for a moment it seemed like that with her mental stability as well.

And then she’d started drinking.

Things had slowed down for her too much. She had too much time to be alone with her thoughts when her children were off at school or wherever, she couldn’t truly bother with knowing. The only thing she knew was that she missed her husband very dearly and cried for him every night. Hanzo would know. He hears her.

The first time she’d hit him was when it all came crashing down to him that nothing will ever be normal with the Shimadas. She had been very, very drunk, and was attempting to wash the dishes. She only kept breaking them, cursing about it, then repeating the cycle. Hanzo couldn’t bear watching it anymore, so he’d ushered Genji inside his room for bedtime then returned to his mother to go to her aid.

Instead of being grateful and loving as she usually would be, Hanzo’s mother had smacked him across the face so hard he thought he heard the sound of it echoing. She began to curse at him and tell him how her misery was all his fault. That if he wasn’t with Sojiro in the car they wouldn’t have taken such drastic measures to eliminate both the boss and the heir together, two birds with one stone. That were he not there, Sojiro would still be alive, he’d still have his legs, Genji would never have needed a wheelchair or crutches, and she’d _never_ be this hollow.

He had been so shocked that he hadn’t moved from his spot until she’d already left for her own room and blacked out. He only started to pick the pieces of the broken plates and throw them out, as if nothing had happened. The next day, his mother couldn’t look him in the eyes. But she never apologized. And he never asked her to.

Hanzo had never felt so guilty of anything else in his life. He was old enough to know that what she’d said was wrong, that what she’d _done_ was wrong, and yet he could never bring himself to stop her from doing it again. After all, it did make sense. Why else would their father have been targeted that very same day? Coincidences were not anything that played in carefully planned out murders.

She’d begun slacking, only ever busying herself with four things: drinking, sleeping, pampering Genji, and abusing Hanzo. He never fought back; he thought deserved it. And he would never blame Genji for it. Genji deserved the love he’d been missing out on and only been getting from Hanzo during the period the woman overworked herself. From then on, Hanzo decided that he would act as a stress reliever. He vowed to never let his loved ones suffer ever again, not by his hands, not anymore.

As a result, Hanzo was getting perfect grades, helping Genji socialize, being of _assistance_ to his mother’s strife, and running an entire business corporation behind femininely-named e-mails, all at the age of fourteen.

He managed to keep this under wraps for years, until Genji found out. He was _beyond_ furious. Not at Hanzo. _Never_ at Hanzo. But at their mother, the one who caused all the bruises Hanzo hid from him, all the self-deprecating jokes he’d never taken seriously. He was angry at first, yes. But then he was just _sad._ His brother was hurting _so much_ for _so long_ , and he kept it all away so he didn’t bother Genji, and he only gave him more trouble by being as rebellious as he was. The thought alone had made him cry at the time.

He remembers it clear as day when Genji had embraced him so tightly he thought he would choke. They cried into each other’s shoulders, just two idiot teenage brothers patting each other’s backs in poor attempts at comfort. Their relationship had changed from that interaction alone. They’d become even more inseparable. And now they were both wary of the woman in their house.

At first, Genji was hellbent on calling the _police_ on the woman, but Hanzo had talked him out of it. What if she did get taken into custody? Where would they go? They didn’t know if they had any other living relatives. The last they’d heard from their only aunt was during her brother’s funeral, and then they’d never seen her again. It was likely she took her own life, from the way their mother never mentioned her.

Instead, Hanzo promised him that as soon as he was of legal age, he was getting them the hell out of here. He’d take Genji and get as far away from their mother as he could. He would run the company while attending college and he’d do a fine job of it. He would turn their life around. He had it all planned out ahead of him.

And yet, whenever he stares at a wheelchair, he always wonders what could have happened, had Genji not lived that day.

“Hanzo?”

By sheer power of instinct did he not jump, but his head did turn to the source of the sound rather quickly. Probably gave himself whiplash doing that. Stupid. No, wait. He shouldn’t think that, it wasn’t stupid. He was startled. Or at least, that’s what Genji would tell him to think.

He blinked his thought away and finally actually looked in front of him. Genji and Mondatta had long finished their round of Dance Dance Revolution, an obvious win for Genji. Now his brother was standing in front of him and looking at him with gentle eyes, as if knowing exactly what was on his mind just a few seconds ago. Despite himself, Hanzo’s shoulders sagged and he gave Genji a weak smile of reassurance.

Knowing Hanzo did not bother with fake smiles, Genji beamed in relief. The other two brothers watched the display with their own smiles, though neither said anything. “I was asking if you wanted to play a round with me? If there’s anyone out of us that can beat me at this, brother, it must be you!” At the words, Hanzo’s mouth immediately fell into a flat line as he huffed.

“I am not content on making myself look like a fool in public like you do, Genji,” he spoke with an even voice, though no actual venom in his words, as his brother already knows. Said boy whined loudly and stomped his feet, a blessing Hanzo did not miss glancing at. “But _Hanzo_ , you have to play with me at least _once_ one day!”

Hanzo shook his head in exasperation. “That day is not today, little brother,” he explained, before glancing at his watch, “besides, it is very late now. We should go home.” He turned his wrist towards Genji and pointed at the watch, showing him that they’ve indeed been in the arcade for quite a bit. It was almost eight PM.

Genji only stood his ground and crossed his arms, suddenly gaining a smug look on his face. “Well, _I_ happened to think ahead since _your_ phone died earlier, and I texted mother for permission to stay late at the arcade, which she granted,” he sung, an almost complacent look on his face as he wagged his thick eyebrows at Hanzo almost teasingly.

One of Hanzo’s eyebrows arched at the action. “Oh?” The inquisitive noise Hanzo made should’ve been enough warning for the younger boy. “Well, you would not mind showing me your phone then, would you?” Genji’s grin suddenly strained as he stiffened, as if caught in a lie. His mouth made a weird shape that Hanzo couldn’t help but snicker at.

“I-I am sure that is not necessary, brother! You trust me, do you not?” Hanzo’s deadpan look did not indicate anything. Instead, he simply extended his hand and opened his palm, a silent command. Genji immediately sagged in defeat and reluctantly reached into his pocket, bringing his phone out and slowly slipping it into Hanzo’s hand.

The movement was _too_ slow, even for Genji. It didn’t even seem sheepish, just… hesitant. Hanzo narrowed his eyes in suspicion and concern, before unlocking his brother’s phone (because he knew the password; neither had anything to hide from one another) and checking the contacts’ messages. He opened his mother’s, and stilled.

_‘Oh,’_ was his only thought. Genji had sent her a completely normal text, truly asking for permission to stay later than usual, and she’d replied with Japanese gibberish before sending a single agreement after three misspelled attempts. She was drunk again, that much was obvious. Hanzo felt his breath halt for a moment, before he exhaled slowly.

“Very well then,” he says, returning the phone to its rightful owner. Genji grins victoriously, glancing at Zenyatta, who shared his excitement. However, it was shattered when Hanzo spoke again. “I will be taking my leave now. Mondatta, could you drive Genji back home before ten? I cannot allow him to stay out longer than that.”

Mondatta gave him a smile and opened his mouth to no doubt agree to the request, but he was cut off when Genji took a step forward and interrupted him. _“[No,]”_ he said sternly, making determined eye contact with Hanzo. Zenyatta glanced at Genji and tilted his head in curiosity. He was the only one out of the four that didn’t fluently speak Japanese yet, but he had learned enough to understand the word Genji had just spoken.

Hanzo, as if expecting this to happen, sighed heavily. He wrapped a hand around one of Genji’s wrists, pulling him away from the Tekhartha brothers and standing in one of the corners of the arcade. “[What the shit are you doing, Hanzo?” The words flew out of Genji’s mouth before he could stop them, not thinking anyone around them understood Japanese.

“[Language,]” Hanzo reprimanded, “[and you know we cannot leave her like this, brother.]” Genji frowned and crossed his arms defensively. “[Like hell we can’t!]” Hanzo flattened his lips and glared at Genji, reminding him of his language once more. “[Yes, we cannot. She is drunk. She could very well hurt herself. You know this.]”

A dark look crossed Genji’s face. “[She could very well hurt _you,_ ]” he countered. Hanzo tightened his grip on Genji’s wrist. He only frowned. “[I will not let you go alone, brother. We will both leave.]” At that, Hanzo shook his head. Genji opened his mouth to protest, but his brother put a hand in the air to stop him so that he could speak.

“[It would be too suspicious to her, after you asked her to stay late only to come home at your regular time,]” Genji hated when Hanzo was right, “[stay and play with Zenyatta and Mondatta for a little while more. But I’d like to go. I have much to do, and my legs are starting to ache.]”

“Starting” to ache was an understatement, if the tremor Genji saw in Hanzo’s knees said anything. But that could’ve very well been fear. He could not tell. He looked at his brother pleadingly, silently begging him to stay with them because he _doesn’t have to go back there,_ to go back to _her,_ but Hanzo only gave him a sympathetic smile and hoped he’s understand.

Genji made a small sound akin to a whimper as his whole posture fell, sadness tugging at his expression. Hanzo held his younger brother’s face in his hands and gave him a true smile, which Genji couldn’t help but reciprocate. Hanzo kissed Genji’s forehead, before turning and walking back towards their friends.

Zenyatta saw them approach first and spoke. “Is everything alright?” As he asked his question, his eyes glanced at Genji, who was now solemnly walking slowly behind his brother. Hanzo nodded, turning to Mondatta. “I will be leaving now. Will you be able to get Genji? It is alright if not, I can come get him myself.”

Genji glances at him for a moment, but Mondatta only laughs gently and waves his hand dismissively. “Of course I can bring him, it is of no trouble.” Genji sulks slightly at the words but makes no further comment. Zenyatta reaches forward and grabs Genji’s hand, intertwining their fingers and tugging him forward.

“Come then, Genji,” he spoke softly, “I bet I can beat you at Street Fighter this time.” Genji’s mouth gaped open as he looked at their clasped hands, a great blush quickly rising to the green-haired boy’s face. Hanzo and Mondatta gave each other a knowing look and chuckled. The sound caused Genji to look at them with a pout, his blush darkening.

Zenyatta tugged his arm to get his attention again and squeezed his hand reassuringly before dropping his own to his side. Genji would rather not admit that the way that he looked at the other’s hand as it descended could only be described as longing, but the laughter from their brothers told him that they already knew that anyway.

Genji shook his head as if to clear it before turning to Zenyatta and beaming widely. “Oh yeah? We’ll see about that! Race ya!” He spoke quickly, turning on his heel and immediately making a run for it. Zenyatta gasped and called out a surprised “Genji!”, before he was turning his wheelchair and speeding after the boy, giggling carefreely.

Hanzo and Mondatta shared a quick smile of their own before they waved at each other. “{Farewell, Mondatta.}” The taller boy grinned and nodded in approval, telling him that he’d said the Nepali words properly. “{Drive safely, Hanzo.}” Hanzo smiled, nodding. With that, he turned to leave the arcade. Once he became out of sight, he made a beeline towards his car. Each step he took became slower and slower.

He felt so heavy. Like he was walking to his death. Sometimes, Hanzo thought he was. He wasn’t sure whether he felt that way because of the car or because of where it was taking him.

Before he knew it, he was parked in his house’s driveway, feet carrying him to the porch. If Hanzo thought exiting his car was difficult, then twisting the key for the front door was damn near impossible. But he knew he had to do it either way, and so he did, bravely turning it. He opened the door as slowly as he could, first peeking his head through the door before fully entering the living room. There was no one in sight. That could either be very good or very bad.

He shut the door behind him quietly, eyes scanning the house. He tiptoed close to the furniture, checking every room on the first floor. He was practically a ninja now, not that he had a choice. It was when he stood in front of the stairs did he realize his dilemma. There was no furniture on the stairs to help the stairs not creak under his weight. Hanzo was not very religious, and yet he prayed to whatever spirits watched him, for what exactly he didn’t know.

He sprinted on the stairs, his heart accelerating. He was finding it harder and harder to remain calm the longer it took to find his mother. After all, where could she be hiding? _Why_ would she be hiding? She was drunk, and they had many rivals still. Was she taken? When he’d looked around there were no signs of intrusion, or life in general. It was concerning.

It was only when he approached her room door did he hear it: sniffling. He felt his shoulders tense and relax simultaneously. He was relieved she wasn’t _taken_ or _dead_ , but it was exactly during these times did she hit him the hardest. Sloppy attacks hurt more than acute ones.

Now Hanzo knows better than to arrive to the house and not greet her. She doesn’t like his sneaking around, as he’d come to learn. But if she hadn’t heard him, then he should be fine, right? She didn’t like being bothered when she was like this either. But if she’d found out that he’d arrived and hadn’t told her, it would probably not end well. Besides, he was he were to check on her in the first place, is he not?

His mind screamed at him as he pushed the ajar door open. Again, he peeked his head through cautiously, despite already knowing she was inside. She was sitting up in her giant bed, made for two but only occupied by one, the only source of light coming from the dim and drained lamp on her nightstand. She had her forearm over her eyes as she sobbed. Hanzo didn’t need to glance down at the hand dangling from the side of the bed to know that it held a mostly empty glass bottle of sake.

He hadn’t realized his hand was still on the door until it creaked. Hanzo felt his blood run ice cold as her head suddenly whipped to look at him, eyes wide and bloodshot. For a second, Hanzo _swore_ they were just as lifeless as his father’s that day. But the way she heaved with each breath told him otherwise. She squinted, tilting her head.

“[Sojiro…? My dear? Is it you?]” Hanzo felt his heart ache. “[…No, mother,]” he says carefully, eyeing her for any sign of rage, “[it is just me. Hanzo.]” The way he says it makes him grimace. Had Genji been here, he probably would have pinched him in the arm and wagged his finger at him. But Genji wasn’t here. It was just him and their drunken, dangerous mother. Good.

A look of pure _hatred_ flashed across his mother’s face and Hanzo swallowed with great difficulty as it disappeared just as fast. That was worse. “[Right,]” she muttered, pulling her hand up slowly and taking a swing from her bottle. The “swing” lasted for quite a bit, and Hanzo flattened his lips as he watched her continue to gulp down the alcohol like it’d save her life.

He carefully approached her when she’d brought it down, only three more gulps away from finishing the bottle. He doubted this was the first bottle she’d finished today. He put two shaking hands on the glass and began to pull it away from her. She tightened her grip on it and began to pull it to her chest as if possessively cradling as child while staring him down in disbelief.

“[Do you not think it is enough for the day, mother?]” He began, knowing to quickly follow it up before she responded. “[You must be so very tired. A little rest sounds grand, does it not?]” If he picked his words right, she’d only curse at him and skip the physical pain. Though it all depended on her, as somedays he’d say the exact same thing and she’d hit him anyway.

It seems today he was unlucky as she rose her other hand in the hair, palm straightened and ready to strike him. Hanzo stiffened, only looking at the hand but still grasping the bottle. He knows better than to flinch or cover his face, so he only tightened his grip and braced for impact.

However, it never came. Hanzo watched the hand as it slowly went down before glancing at his mother’s face and freezing. She was now looking back at him instead, eyes wide as if she saw something she’d never seen. Had she seen his face? Had he reacted to her raising her hand? Had it showed? Whatever happened, he was sure the result would not be good.

Ever so abruptly, she sputtered, startling Hanzo. Then, she _laughed._ The sound was broken and pained, but it was a laugh nonetheless. At first, the boy thought she was laughing at him. Mocking him, perhaps. But the laugh sounded a lot like a hysterical cry. She suddenly shoved the bottle into his arms and quickly hid her face in her hands, looking down.

Her shoulders shook as she sobbed. Hanzo remained very, very still. This had never happened before. He wasn’t sure whether he was to get up and put the bottle away as he did whenever he managed to get it from her or stay next to her and not move at all. He opted for the former, not truly wanting to be that close to her when she reeked so badly.

He placed the mostly empty bottle on the ground near the room’s door then released a silent breath he hadn’t known he was holding. This was much more familiar. The next step in the pattern was for him to go prepare her a meal, usually eggs, then watch her cry herself to sleep. Then, and only then, was he allowed to leave for his own bed. He never managed to sleep anyway.

Just as he began to exit the room, the sound of her voice speaking stopped him. “[Hanzo, wait.]” His throat tightened. She usually never spoke unless she was cursing or crying out her husband’s name. She never even acknowledged him. He didn’t think she was coherent enough, all the more reason he deals with her every time rather than ever let Genji try.

“[I…]” The woman rasped, not taking her face out of her hands as she spoke in muffled sounds. “[Come back here for a moment,]” she said, then after a while, she added, “[please.]”

Hanzo’s eyes had widened so much they were beginning to burn. He had just the door and found his feet were taking him to her despite his protests. He knows not to say no, but he was so, so confused. This truly had never happened before. He hoped that this was a good different, but he was not so naïve as to cling to something as fake as _hope._

He winced when Genji popped back into mind. Right, don’t think like that, Hanzo. Instead, he took a seat in front of his mother, right back where he was. He stared at her silently, partially hoping she would explain, and partially hoping she would keep her face in her hands and just fall asleep like that so that he could leave and forget that the system ever went out of order.

He internally cursed his luck when he heard her suck a breath through her teeth, hissing as she rose her head slowly. The only brunette in the family looked at him with bloodshot eyes, tears tracks evident on her old, worn out skin. Bags collected under her eyes and snot covered her upper lip. He gagged slightly when she opened her mouth. The scent was _overwhelming._

“[You…]” She seemed to struggle with her words, inhaling almost aggressively. “[You are… so _good…]”_ Now _that_ caught Hanzo of guard. Despite himself, he felt his eyebrows both rise in surprise and confusion. Apparently so did she, because huffed out a laugh, blowing breaths in his face that made him breathe out of his mouth to spare himself.

“[You are such a good person,]” she whimpered, eyes watering once more, “[you take care of me after all I do to you. I do not understand how you can be like this towards a monster and a mess like me.]” Neither did Genji, as he’d been told. Hanzo also had trouble figuring it out, but he’d ultimately ruled it back to “it was easier.” He never understood what that meant either.

She made eye contact with him and Hanzo felt his chest constrict so much it hurt. The look in her eyes. She looked desperate. “[You remind me of him _so much,]”_ she sobbed and hesitantly reached out. Hanzo looked at her hand in surprise, before it slowly turned to shock as he realized she was waiting for permission to touch him.

He looked at her with raised eyebrows, but did not move. She took that as a silent agreement, pushing her hand forward. Her palm made contact with his face so slowly Hanzo couldn’t even imagine that that very same palm had struck him in that very same place so many times before. She seemed to break, caressing his cheek.

_“[You are so much like him,]”_ she started with a wavering voice, “[you are so kind and caring. And you are quiet and careful, just like he was. You protect those around you. You protect Genji from me. I am so happy you are here,]” she paused, rubbing her thumb across his jaw and chin, “[spirits, you even _look_ like him…]”

Hanzo felt his jaw tighten. It was true, he knew it. He had the exact same muscular physique and beardless face. Many times had he looked in the mirror and scared himself half to death when he thought the lifeless eyes were staring back at him. Then again, perhaps they were. Maybe he really was turning out just like his father. And that wasn’t a bad thing, he thought. His father a natural born leader, a good father, and from the looks of it, a good husband as well.

He felt something swell within him when she smiled at him. She looked _proud_ of him. Of who he’d become _._ “[My charming, handsome little man…]” She sighed almost wistfully, tilting her head at him in endearment. Hanzo couldn’t help it, he smiled at her in return. He pressed his face into her hand and fought back tears.  

He always strived to please his parents. It was just his habit. And now? It was paying off. He stuck with her when she was at her lowest, when she needed him most. And he was being rewarded for it, even if it was just a small moment. Even for a little bit. A small interaction, coming from his drunken mother, who would probably hit him next time she was drunk.

_‘Or would she?’_ The thought crossed Hanzo’s mind briefly. This felt as if lifechanging. Perhaps she’d learned to love him again? Or, wait, did she ever stop loving him? Maybe when she hit him, it hurt her as well, but it was the only thing she could do. Maybe she was pulling herself back together so that they can all be happy again. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for the Shimadas to be normal.

Her hand slid to his shoulder and squeezed. He jumped, startled. She frowned at the action, but only shook her head at it. “[Please,]” she pleaded, “[please let me take of you, just one more time? Like from back before everything? Like when we were younger?]” Hanzo furrowed his brows for a moment before blinking as he comprehended the words. Was she asking Hanzo if he wanted her to sing him to sleep?

A little too eagerly for his liking, he nodded. She seemed to notice and snickered. For someone so drunk, she acted very clear-mindedly. Another sign that perhaps things could finally turn around. “[First, we must remove these.]” She punctuated her statement by pointing at something. Hanzo followed her finger, then tensed.

She was pointing at his prosthetic feet, showing from when he took off his shoes before coming in. She didn’t like it when the boys dragged dirt into the house. He looked at her with confusion and hesitancy, gulping. She was already grabbing his legs and rolling the sleeves of his pants up, fiddling with the prosthetics and successfully removing them. He didn’t like the idea of removing his prosthetics. Not having his legs made him vulnerable. He already was right now as is.

The realization felt like one of the woman’s very slaps. Hanzo felt himself pale at what was happening.

His mother gave him a smile, but there was something about the twinkle in her eye that unsettled Hanzo. He felt himself begin to sweat. He opened his mouth to protest, but she grabbed him by the shoulder gently, _(when had he removed his jacket? He didn’t walk in here with just his t-shirt,)_ and attempted to lay him down next to her. Almost immediately, Hanzo shot upwards like a bullet, breath hitching.

“[Ah! I _—_ I forgot, uh, that I did not make dinner, for Genji to eat— when he returns,]” he stuttered, eyes wide and hands jittery. His mother rolled her eyes in what looked like exasperated affection. “[I am sure he does not mind take out dear, you know how he is,]” she laughed, but it sounded so _different_ , “[just sit back and _relax_ with me.]”

Hanzo’s breath quickened when he found himself pinned by his shoulders onto the bed. His mother climbed _on top of him_ , and he saw her raise her hand once more. All he could think was how he was about to get the beating of his life.

But then she brought her hand down, and Hanzo _wished_ she’d hit him.

_“[Let me take care of you,]”_ she cooed, palming the front of his jeans.

He felt his body burn. What? _What?_ What was _happening?_

He might have spoken out loud, as she answered him. “[I’m taking care of you, I said I would, did I not?]” Hanzo felt himself choke on his own saliva. This wasn’t what he thought she meant. He _never thought_ _—_

Hanzo realized that with the Shimadas, he should expect nothing less. After all, him _not thinking_ was what got his _father killed._ How could he have been so _stupid?_

_“[Wait_ _—!]”_ For the first time in his life, Hanzo protested. His arms flailed and he grabbed her harassing hand’s wrist with both of his, tugging it away roughly. Above him, that look he’d seen when he first walked in flashed across her face. Fear began to truly set in when she’d grabbed his hands and pinned them above his head, snarling.   ** _“[Cooperate,]”_** she growled lowly, narrowing her eyes at him.

Hanzo’s eyes watered as he struggled, kicking his stumps uselessly and wriggling beneath her. “[Stop! Mother, _stop!]”_ The screams were fruitless, he knew. He may have had training with his father, but he was still a teenager, and she was a 45 year old woman who no doubt had her own training when she first married into the Shimada name.

She huffed, disappointment clear as day in it. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. She let go of him briefly and Hanzo arms jumped upwards as the force on them lifted. Just as he realized he was free and began reaching for something, he felt his upper body suddenly get covered by something. His arms got trapped and his face was wrapped, and oh _spirits_ was she _licking him_?

She had lifted Hanzo’s shirt above his head but not completely, keeping it there as a snare to keep his protesting hands at bay. She allowed her eyes and tongue to roam his now exposed chest, watching the erratic rise and fall of his pecs and the tense pulling of his abs as he struggled for breath. The taste was the same. _‘Just like Sojiro,_ ’ she confirmed her wonders, licking her lips as she did. Like father like son, she supposes. Well, except for his hyperventilating. She knew he wasn’t suffocating beneath his shirt, just being _dramatic._

_“Stop!”_ She rose an eyebrow at the language switch. Why had he begun to speak in English, the language he knew she couldn’t speak but very well understand? “Somebody, _help!”_ She sputtered, amused. Was he hoping someone would hear him, in a closed room on the second floor of a large house, while his voice was muffled by his own shirt? She could _see_ his tears through the shirt.

She shushed him softly, placing a finger on where his mouth would be. Her guess seemed correct as he suddenly yelped, jerking away from her hand. Or maybe he was just terrified out of his mind anyway. She clicked her tongue in distaste again. This was not going how she’d wanted it at all. Was she doing it wrong? How did she do it before, with Sojiro?

Hanzo wailed as she dragged her nails across his body. She did it slowly, as to pleasure him, just how Sojiro liked it. She ran her palms over the scratches, not missing the way he arched when her hand came in contact with one of the nubs that now stood at fill attention off of his pecs. She grinned wider now. He really was just like Sojiro! Or better yet, he was just Sojiro himself.

“[You like that?]” She whispered next to where Hanzo’s face was, straddling his hips and grinding down onto him. She felt him twitch. Apparently, so did he, as he suddenly began to sob beneath the grey fabric over his head. “ _Please don’t do this,”_ he begged, shaking his head violently, “please, please, _please, pl_ _—”_

“[Quiet!]” She snapped, pinching his side and twisting her hand, ripping out a small yell from him before he took her demand to heart, snapping his mouth shut. She huffed in frustration, moving her hips back and forth on him as she thought. Maybe he needed to see her? To touch her? So that he can realize who she was and let her help him relax. So they can be happy.

The woman nodded at her own thought and hummed, pressing her entire weight onto the semi-hard clothed member she sat on. She heard him choke on a sob and rolled her eyes. “[I will remove the shirt to let you touch me,]” she informed, “[do not try think anything stupid.]” She hated having to say that to her Sojiro, but he was being too stubborn for her drunken haze to fully handle.

Taking his silence as an agreement, again, she took off her own shirt and glanced at hot pink lace bra she wore. He would love it, she knew he would. Reaching for the hem of him shirt, she took off the rest of it, finally freeing his face and arms, which ached from being held up for so long. She bit her lip and looked down, readying herself for the lustful look she knew Sojiro would be giving her.

But instead, all she’d gotten was the terrified face of his hiccupping look-alike, who had his arms crossed over his exposed chest, proceeding to shut his eyes and cry. She groaned in _more_ disappointment, the fire between her legs dying down slightly. Why was this boy being so damn difficult with her? It was bothersome. Here she was, doing him a service to repay him, and he _cried ungratefully_ about it. Why couldn’t he just play the part they needed to make this work?

She grabbed one of his hands and lead it inside her pants, running it up and down her underwear slowly as she cupped her own breast with the other. “[Come on, Soji,]” she mumbled behind sinful moans, “[come to me darling, I know you are there.]”

For a moment, the doppelganger underneath her body looked at her and evened out his breathing. Then, his other hand reached out towards her, placing itself on her hip. She grinned wickedly, relieved, and arched her back into the touch. Finally, _finally,_ it had been so, so, so long since she and Sojiro—

It had been so quick, the slam of something to the side of her head. From the sudden darkness that overtook the room, she reckoned that idiot had just hit her with the lamp from the nightstand. She felt herself fall on her side onto the bed, listening to him scramble across the sheets. _“Somebody help!”_ She heard him yell into the void, once again in English, hoping that someone would come to his aid.

She rubbed her head and narrowed her eyes to adjust her vision. She saw his silhouette, crawling to the edge of the huge bed and grabbing blindly at the floor, hoping to swipe at his prosthetics. She scoffed. He seemed to hear her as he gasped, his trembling becoming even more violent. _“Somebody, anybody, please! Please help me! **Please**_ ** _—!”_**

She reached forward and grabbed a fistful of the boy’s long hair straight from its roots, relishing in the pained _scream_ he howled out as she pulled him back. She threw him to the other edge of the bed, knocking the wind out of him, and not helping him regain it when she’d jumped on top of his aggressively. She heard him gasp and inhale, coughing and sputtering as he tried to push her off of him.

She decided to humor him and sit back, only to wrap her hands around his throat and _squeeze._ She listened to the sound of him gagging as she pressed her thumbs to his windpipe, putting all of her force into strangling this _useless_ boy. She really thought she could save this family, bring Sojiro back and maybe start another. But this _pathetic, nameless_ boy was just as disappointing as she expected him to be.

Beneath her, Hanzo, _the nameless boy,_ waved his arms around wildly as he looked for her neck to attempt choking her back. But it was so so dark, he couldn’t see, and she was only making his vision darken. He clawed at the hands around his neck, feeling tears slip out of his eyes and drool slip past his lips.

The blood was rushing to his head as she held it down. He felt her remove one hand and increase the strength of the grip on the other one, letting her free one slide down his body quickly before fiddling with the button on his jeans. As he heard her unzip his pants, Hanzo wept at his foolishness.

This was happening. This was really happening. His mother, his own _mother_ , had just attacked and overpowered him while “drunk.” She assaulted him, licked him, _touched_ him, made _him_ touch _her,_ and was now about to have her way with him then kill him. He felt his body go slack. He stopped fighting. Hopefully he dies before she gets him inside her. She wanted to fuck a dead man anyway. She can rape Sojiro’s corpse all she liked once Hanzo stops breathing.

Just as Hanzo began to see the rumored light at the end of the tunnel, something interrupted his passing to the other side.

**_“[Get the fuck away from him!]”_ **

Hanzo heard something shatter and suddenly all the weight on top of him disappeared. He immediately wheezed as his windpipe was freed, sluggishly rolling away and falling onto the floor. He scrambled backwards while grabbing at his neck, feeling phantom phalanges still grabbing him and pulling the life out of him from there.  

He could hear someone talk, but everything was so muffled, it didn’t make sense. All Hanzo could truly hear was the sound of his own heart pounding while he hacked. He wanted to vomit, but he couldn’t clear his airways enough to allow him to hurl. He still felt constricted, even when he panted air in and out of his lungs.

His body seemed to realize that he _could_ vomit now, so he did just that. He turned away from whoever was talking, not that he could pinpoint where the sound was coming from, and threw up everything he’d eaten for the entire month. As he did, he wept. He wept and he wept and he wept about what just happened to him. The Shimadas can never be normal again.

_He_ can never be normal again.

When someone touched his bare back, he screeched in terror, slamming his back into wall and grabbing the front of his open pants, pulling them up as he tried to adjust his sight and locate his perpetrator. It was pointless to use anonymity, he knew who it was. His mother. She never loved Hanzo, did she? She always loved Sojiro. He wasn’t Sojiro. _He_ _wasn’t his father._

  _“_ _—ods Hanzo, I’m so sorry, I’m **so fucking sorry,** I shouldn’t have stayed, I should’ve gone with you, I knew, I **knew** —”_

His mother couldn’t speak English, so who—?

Hanzo’s eyes landed on the person talking.

Oh gods. It was Genji.

His brother knelt before him, tears rolling down his face as he blubbered agonized apologies. In his hand was the handle of a broken bottle _—_ the bottle of sake Hanzo had placed next to the door of the room just earlier. Across from the two of them, the limp body of their mother lay, blood pooling around her head specifically.

Hanzo’s throat tightened, _again._ Genji was forced to hit their mother over the head the bottle to save Hanzo. If she dies… that’s on _Genji’s_ hands.

Hanzo was not worth that.

“Hanzo? Brother? Are you with me? Please, please say something,” Genji wailed, wanting so badly to hold his brother tightly and never let go, but learning from his previous attempt and touching him. Hanzo blinked repeatedly, trying to open his mouth and respond to Genji, but nothing coming out. The brother’s eyes finally met.

Hanzo’s put a hand over his mouth as a sob wracked through him.

It seemed like all his brother need before Genji discarded the bottle and lunged at him, burying his face in his shoulder and bawling his eyes out. Hanzo wanted to wrap his other hand around Geni to embrace the younger boy, but he couldn’t find it in himself to let go of the front of his pants. It’s as though his hand was stuck in a permanent fist there, terrified of an encore if he let go for any reason.

Instead, he took his hand off his mouth and held Genji to him, freely crying into his brother’s soft green locks. They stayed there, crying into each other’s arms and swaying from side to side, as if trying to rock each other back into reality. But this _was_ reality. What Hanzo experienced, what Genji had to do. This was real.

Genji pulled back first, still heaving sobs as he spoke. “I-I-I’m so s-sorry, Hanzo,” he stumbled over his words, “I-I shouldn’t have let this happen, I had a feeling _something_ was wrong and I _s-still_ let you come back here, th-this is _all my fault_ _—"_

Hanzo held his brother’s face in his hands and forced him to look at him gently. “Don’t you dare, Genji,” he rasped. The screaming took a toll on his vocals, didn’t it? He blinked the thought away and more tears fell as a result. Genji hated when Hanzo was right. He _wanted_ to take the blame, because it _could_ have been prevented had he been present in the household, but he knew Hanzo made sense. He couldn’t have possibly known that something like _this_ would happen.

The brothers pressed their foreheads together for comfort. Genji almost shot across the room when he heard his older brother hiss in pain, only pulling back carefully but quickly instead. He was going to ask what was wrong, but he was it for himself. On the furthest top right of Hanzo’s forehead, blood generously seeped from a wound where a shard of glass jutted out.

“Fuck, I got you with the bottle,” Genji whimpered, eyeing the injury as if it hurt _him._ Hanzo reached upwards and simply _plucked_ the glass out, despite knowing he shouldn’t have, then turned back to Genji and cleared his throat, “language.” Genji stared at him incredulously.

He _would_ have cracked a smile at it, had it not been for the loud groan that suddenly interrupted the scene.

The brothers both froze and Genji turned around very slowly, realizing the groan came from their very alive mother. He grabbed his phone to call the police as he stood, then cursed when found it dead. Hanzo’s breath hitched in his throat and his fist tightened at the front of his pants again. He was already panting by the time Genji bolted to his prosthetics and helped him put them on. He hyperventilated, unable to take his eyes off of the woman who was slowly shuffling back into consciousness.

_“Hanzo.”_ The stern call of his name tore his attention away from the sight of the woman raising from the dead. Genji looked at him with determined eyes and stepped backwards, pulling his sibling up to his feet. He was already running, dragging Hanzo with him. He tugged at him as they sprinted down the stairs together, then out of the front door.

_“Don’t look back, brother!”_  Genji yelled over the wind. He nodded despite Genji not being able to see him, accelerating to catch up to Genji. Genji could run now, yes, but he still couldn’t run as fast as Hanzo could. But Hanzo was exhausted and dehydrated, tears and vomit and sweat forcibly stripped out of him, along with his innocence, though he felt he’d lost the latter a long time ago. And so they ran side to side, a tall half-naked long raven-haired Japanese seventeen year old boy and his younger obnoxiously dressed green-haired fourteen year old brother.

Hanzo couldn’t help but ask. “Genji, where are we going?!” The question did not seem to slow Genji down. In fact, he tried to pick up his pace. “I have a friend that lives around here, somewhere three blocks over!” Hanzo glanced to his side and gave the boy a skeptical look. Who was that friend? Genji had many, Hanzo didn’t know all of them. Where they trustworthy? Was it safe? Will they just left in a shirtless, bleeding boy and his brother through because of simple acquaintance? What if they tried to hurt Genji because of what he brought to them in the middle of the night? He couldn’t let that happen. Hanzo and Genji only had each other now.

Hanzo felt Genji squeeze his hand.

_“Trust me!”_

He squeezed back.

_“Always.”_


End file.
